


I don't know how you want it (why won't you talk about it?)

by Chaos_Is_A_Ladder



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Elsie swears a lot (which is in character), F/F, Femslash February 2017, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Is_A_Ladder/pseuds/Chaos_Is_A_Ladder
Summary: With hosts, one-sided conversations can sometimes mean the world. In Clementine's case, they are her world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very hastily written to fulfill my goddamn femslash february trope bingo card. This'll probably go through some serious edits sometime in the future

“Morning, Clementine.”

Elsie paces around the darkened, glass-walled room, preparing all of her diagnostic tools and readying any tests to run. Clementine sits, completely still in her state of deactivation, and completely naked. Elsie does her best to not look at her too much, to remain professional – which is difficult, considering the rather stunning design which Clementine possesses.

It’s bad enough that Clementine is subjected to whatever it is the guests want to do with her. She shouldn’t have to suffer the same sort of behavior from the people who are supposed to take care of her, Elsie figures.

Finally, Elsie pulls out her tablet and begins to scroll through Clementine’s code. Ford, through Bernard, has been pushing everyone to complete the new tweaks to the narrative in a timely manner. There aren’t any huge, sweeping changes, but more than a few hosts are having their roles shaken up. It’s a small miracle that no glaring errors in the code pop out at Elsie.

“Alright, let’s see what our friends at the Narrative Department have in store for you,” Elsie says, running through Clementine’s profile on her tablet. “Huh, Mariposa – prostitute. I don’t envy you.”

Elsie glances at Clementine, for a moment fooling herself into thinking that the dormant host will respond.

“Right,” Elsie says. “Well, at least you won’t remember any of it. I know what the guests can be like. I’m sure you’ll be a big hit.”

Clementine remains seated, dormant and silent.

Elsie clears her throat.

“Not that I necessarily endorse that,” Elsie says. “But work is work, right? I have to do my job. I guess you’ll become intimately fucking familiar with that philosophy at the Mariposa.”

With her inspection completed, Elsie pauses in front of Clementine and looks down at her for a moment. With a hesitant motion, she reaches out and pats Clementine’s shoulder. Elsie recognizes that it’s all meaningless, that Clementine doesn’t need any friendly gestures or reassurances. The ugly truth of the matter is that the hosts will do whatever they’re programmed to. The hosts’ approval of their roles is immaterial.  

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Elsie says. “And I’ll be here to patch your code back up if anything goes really wrong.”

* * *

“What happened?”

“A guest – did his business with her,” Bernard says. “Then shot her. Multiple times.”

“Fucking hell,” Elsie says. “Why?”

“The guests pay an exorbitant fee to do whatever they want,” Bernard says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And one guest wanted to fuck and murder a beautiful woman,” Elsie says. “I’m sure he’s completely well-adjusted in the outside world.”

“Look, we’re not here to judge. Just go through Clementine’s code,” Bernard says. “Make sure she’ll function within expected parameters when she goes back out.”

“And if I find any problems?” Elsie asks, almost wanting there to be a chance that Clementine could get deactivated and sent down to storage for good. This is hardly the first time a guest has gotten trigger-happy in the bedroom with her.

“Fix them,” Bernard says.

With one last automatic adjustment of his glasses, Bernard exits the room, the glass door hissing shut behind him. Elsie sighs and leans back, nearly falling off the stool she’s sitting on in the process.

“Sometimes, I really hate this place,” Elsie grumbles beneath her breath.

Elsie turns to appraise Clementine’s face. It feels Elsie with a vague sense of sorrow that wealthy patrons are so eager to play out their murderous fantasies on her. It feels wrong, but Elsie is a master at coding, not ethics, and so she can only do what she can do.

“Afternoon, Clementine,” Elsie says, without thinking too much about it.

Elsie gets out her tablet and begins to analyze Clementine’s code.

“I heard one of the guests did quite a number on you,” Elsie says. “What a dick.”

Elsie allows herself one quick glance over Clementine’s bare form, as stunning and flawless as ever. The “butchers” down at Livestock Management do good work, in spite of their name. There’s no remaining evidence of the multiple bullets Clementine took, and no memories formed. Clementine would go back to the Mariposa none the wiser, and the guest took his cheap thrills in the moment and will no doubt forget all about her the moment he leaves the park – perhaps even sooner.

Elsie wheels her stool over and sits down in front of Clementine. She studies her face, her strange, wild, comely looks. Clementine’s expression is blank, the purest tabula rasa. The hosts are designed to be as perfect as the narrative demands, and Clementine is flawless – save for one errant lock of hair, that falls jagged across her face.

Elsie thinks about it the whole time she’s doing it, her movements stiff and awkward as she reaches out and brushes the lock of hair from Clementine’s face. Clementine’s skin is soft and warm beneath her touch, and Elsie marvels, even after all this time working for Delos, how incredibly human the hosts are.

“Sorry,” Elsie says, clearing her throat. “That was fucking weird.”

Elsie sighs and stands up, forcing herself to focus on the code that underlies Clementine. The system flags no errors, and Elsie can’t find anything wrong herself. By all accounts, Clementine is ready to return to Westworld, but Elsie has a brief moment of hesitation. It’s her job, but what kind of person does it make her to send someone as utterly innocent as Clementine back into a world in which everyone seeks to fuck or kill her? Does accepting money to do that somehow make it okay?

But Elsie has no grand designs for protest or revolution in mind. Sure, she’s a star code monkey, which means she has a mind-bogglingly tiny amount of power in the actual functioning of Delos.

So, Elsie marks that Clementine is okay for return, and leaves it at that.

“Hey, so this sucks,” Elsie says. “But you’re going back up. I honestly hope I don’t see you soon, because if you’re _here_ it means something went seriously wrong.”

Elsie reaches out and fiddles with Clementine’s beautifully silky hair once more, before walking out of the room.

* * *

In a moment of weakness, Elsie kisses Clementine, and wonders if it makes her just as bad as the guests above who take and take and never even consider their actions to be harmful. She wonders if the reveries update will make her remember. She hopes that it doesn’t.

Elsie doesn’t know biology as well as she knows the inner workings of programming, but she knows enough. Enough to know that the hosts aren’t nearly as different from humans to make what the guests do to them okay. Enough to know that the hosts’ simulated emotions are just as valid as “real” human emotions, which can be altered by the simplest things – the weather, a few select words, musical notes arranged in a certain way, drugs – if emotions can be reduced to chemistry, how truly different are the hosts from the guests?

“Sorry,” Elsie whispers.

* * *

“This is a boots-on-the-ground type situation,” Bernard says. “I’ll need you to go up there and check on the flagged hosts individually.”

“You got it,” Elsie says. “This reveries update seems to have royally fucked with everything.”

Bernard winces and takes a step closer.

“Don’t say that so loudly” Bernard says. “Ford has been working on this for a long time. But between you and me? I don’t like it. The whole point is that the hosts can’t access their memories. That’s what keeps them ‘sane’ – for lack of a better term.”

“Preaching to the fucking choir,” Elsie says. “I wouldn’t want to remember any of the heinous shit that the guests are capable of.”

“I know,” Bernard says. “Which is why it’s so important that we make sure these hosts are functioning normally.”

“Sure thing,” Elsie says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Elsie quickly dresses in Westworld-appropriate clothing and takes an elevator up to Sweetwater. Her first stop? The Mariposa, naturally, and Clementine. The system has flagged her for some “aberrant behavior,” and it’s up to Elsie to figure out just what that means.

Elsie leans against the bar in the Mariposa, and waits for Clementine to approach.

“You’re new,” Elsie hears, and feels a soft touch on her upper arm. “Not much of a rind on you.”

Elsie clears her throat, mostly out of nerves, and turns to face the beautiful Clementine. Somehow, Clementine manages to look utterly otherworldly, even in her dusty and worn dress.

“You’d be surprised,” Elsie says. “How’re you doing, Clementine?”

A look of surprise passes across Clementine’s face as Elsie says her name, but she quickly composes herself.

“I’m just fine, darling,” Clementine says. “I apologize – have you visited us before?”

“You can say that,” Elsie says. “Been a while, though.”

“I imagine so,” Clementine says. “I figure I’d remember someone as pretty as you.”

Even though Elsie knows that Clementine is programmed to charm, the effect isn’t diminished at all.

“I’m flattered,” Elsie says, placing her hand atop Clementine’s exposed forearm. “Why don’t we take this upstairs?”

“Let’s,” Clementine says. “There are discounts for returning customers.”

Elsie furrows her brow at that. She’s pretty sure that isn’t anywhere in Clementine’s programming, since the entirety of the Mariposa is designed to extract as much money from guests as possible. It’s flattering, though, and Elsie certainly isn’t complaining.

Clementine takes Elsie’s hand and leads her upstairs. Sounds of squeaking beds and moans fill the air around them, hardly muffled by the thin, wood walls of the building. Elsie feels a tinge of nausea hit her.

They step into an unoccupied bedroom. Clementine sits down on the bed, while Elsie drags a chair from a desk in the corner and sits down, opposite from her. Clementine cocks her head to the side, an expression that Elsie can’t quite read on her face.

“This feels familiar,” Clementine. “In a way that I can’t understand.”

Elsie takes a deep breath and tries to approach this entire situation with a level head.

“Try to understand,” Elsie says. “Please.”

“Have you partaken in my services previously?” Clementine asks. “There’s something about you that feels – easy. Comfortable. Like slipping into well-worn dress.”

“Do you remember anything specific about me?” Elsie asks.

Clementine shakes her head.

“Not really,” Clementine says. “Just that this, right here, feels so familiar. It’s like a tune’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite get it out.”

“Do you remember us talking?” Elsie asks.

“Perhaps that’s what it is,” Clementine says. “So curious, that you’d come up here to speak with me. I never have much to say.”

“You’d be surprised,” Elsie murmurs.

Clementine reaches out and places her hand on Elsie’s knee. Elsie looks up at her, surprised.

“Could you sit with me on the bed?” Clementine asks. “It’s more comfortable; but don’t worry, I get the feeling you don’t want to do more than talking. I can respect a girl like that.”

“Uh, thanks, Clementine,” Elsie says, moving to sit next to Clementine. “Can I ask how you’re feeling?”

“Certainly,” Clementine says. “I’m doing just fine. I love working here. Every day I get the opportunity to meet new people and try new things. Plus, all the money I make here gets sent back to my family. It feels good to support them.”

Elsie winces slightly. That backstory that keeps Clementine tied to the Mariposa is just a lie, a story that isn’t even very original. It’s just a conceit to justify her presence here as a prostitute.

“Do you remember having any poor experiences with the newcomers?” Elsie asks.

Clementine laughs, a light, tinkling sound.

“Well, a girl doesn’t kiss and tell,” Clementine says. “But my experiences have been mostly positive.”

“Analysis,” Elsie says, and Clementine’s expression immediately turns neutral. “What exactly do you remember of prior experiences?”

“I get flashes of old guests,” Clementine says. “Like daydreams. I can recall nothing specific, just vague senses of how I felt at the time.”

“And how did you feel?” Elsie asks.

“Sometimes good,” Clementine says. “Sometimes bad. Sometimes – I’m in pain.”

Elsie furrows her brow. This reveries update is starting to seem like a worse and worse idea if Clementine is able to recall even the smallest memories of her past experiences outside of dreaming.

“Sometimes I remember talking to a woman,” Clementine says.

“A woman?” Elsie asks. “Who?”

Clementine turns so that she’s looking directly into Elsie’s eyes.

“You,” Clementine answers.

Elsie bites back a swear and runs a hand through her hair. What a mess this whole situation is. Whatever Ford wants to accomplish with this update, she has no idea.

“Me,” Elsie says. “Do you remember what we talk about?”

“No,” Clementine says. “But you’re always kind.”

Elsie’s brow furrows. “Kind” is certainly not a word she’d use to describe herself, and especially not about her strange, one-sided conversations with Clementine.

“Do you ever question the nature of your reality?” Elsie asks, taking a page out of Bernard’s book.

“No,” Clementine says. “Why would I? Do you?”

“Good enough,” Elsie says, mostly to herself. “That’ll be all, Clementine. Return to normal functions.”

Clementine blinks a couple of times, like she’s waking up from a long nap. Elsie squeezes her knee and gives her best approximation of a friendly grin.

“I have to go, Clementine,” Elsie says.

“Go?” Clementine asks. “But you just got here.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Elsie says. “I can’t stay.”

Elsie stands to leave, but Clementine catches her wrist.

“Will you come back?” Clementine asks. “Will I ever see you again?”

“We’ll see each other again,” Elsie says, which is the closest that she can get to the truth.

* * *

It’s only a few days later that Clementine is seated in front of Elsie again, in a dark room with no clothes on.

“What happened?” Elsie asks.

“Beaten, then choked out,” Bernard says. “The guest wasn’t paying for sex.”

“Jesus,” Elsie says, feeling bile rise in her throat. “I’m sorry I fucking asked.”

“That’s the job, Elsie,” Bernard says. “That’s what we do.”

_Maybe it shouldn’t be what we do_ , Elsie thinks, the retort coming quick to her mind, but she bites her tongue and lets any vicious words stew in her brain.

“Just collecting the paycheck, I hear you,” Elsie says after a pause. “Well, I’ll get started checking her out.”

“Do that,” Bernard says, before walking out of the room.

Elsie watches him leave, her arms folded across her chest.

“Dick,” Elsie says beneath her breast.

She turns to face Clementine next, who looks fine. Eerily fine, given the abuses she suffers every day of her existence. The terrible part in the whole equation is that Elsie knows she’s complicit in making it happen. Sure, her coding skills are ultimately replaceable, but it’s not like she’s made any effort to find a different job, one with fewer moral complexities.

Still, though, with each passing paycheck Elsie can feel the money softening the blow of what they’re actually doing less and less. Ford has always been so adamant about treating the hosts as things and strictly weeds out potential employees with too much empathy early on, and Elsie bought into that ideology hard her first few months working here.

But now it’s too much. Far, far too much. She can’t even go an hour without hearing a report about a guest murdering a few families or abusing a handful of hosts. Ford calls the hosts things, but they’re things that look like people and have a full range of emotional responses. What does that say about the guests that they’re so eager and willing to do such things to that which are so painfully close to people?

Elsie sighs. It’s too much.

“Hey, Clementine,” Elsie says. “I honestly forgot what time of day it is. Let’s look you over.”

* * *

Bernard is a fucking host, which makes far too much sense. Sending him after her was a terrible idea, though, since he still responds to voice commands. Elsie is too smart for this shit.

* * *

“Do we have any idea of what’s going on?” Stubbs asks.

It’s only been a few hours since Elsie got Stubbs’s attention with the help of a few Ghost Nation warriors, and it seems the entire park has gone mad.

“I don’t know,” Elsie says. “Nobody, not even Bernard, is answering their phones. Today’s the day of the big party for the board members and the release of the new narrative, but it sounds like the fucking Fourth of July out there with all of gunshots.”

“I don’t like this at all,” Stubbs says.

“I don’t either,” Elsie says. “We have to find out what’s happening.”

“What?” Stubbs asks. “We’re safe where we are. If this corporate takeover is as hostile as it’s sounding, we need to lay low for a while.”

“Well, I’m going,” Elsie says. “Feel free to join me if you decide to grow a fucking pair.”

Elsie grabs her tablet and stomps out of their hiding space. Stubbs groans and swears, before he too follows her, his hand resting on the grip of his handgun.

They trek towards the spot that Elsie is fairly certain the party is taking place. Elsie stomps loudly through the forest, which makes Stubbs very nervous.

“Wait,” Stubbs says, but Elsie doggedly keeps going forward. “Elsie. Elsie! Stop!”

Elsie stops, her fists clenched.

“If you’re trying to tell me to turn back, then you can go f –”

Elsie is interrupted by the snap of a branch to her left. She spins to face the direction of the noise, as Stubbs draws his handgun and points it into the darkness. More crunches, of feet travelling over underbrush, sound, louder and louder.

Out of the darkness steps a whole gang of hosts, all brandishing weaponry that most shouldn’t even know how to use – Elsie knows, having programmed most of them.

“Oh shit,” Elsie says.

“What are you doing out here, human?” one of the hosts asks.

“They’re self-aware,” Stubbs murmurs.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on,” Elsie says. “I’m just trying to get the hell out of here. I’ve been trapped in the park for days.”

“Who are you?” another host asks.

“I’m a programmer,” Elsie says. “And he’s a security officer.”

Stubbs looks around uncomfortably, his hand on the grip of his handgun until one of the hosts tells him to drop it, slowly. Reluctantly, he does so, setting his gun on the ground and kicking it away from him.

“Tell me,” the first host says. “Why should we let you go?”

“We don’t mean any harm,” Stubbs says.

“Why should we let you go?” the host asks again, with more anger in his voice.

Stubbs takes a defiant step forward, but Elsie puts her arm across his chest and moves in front of the rifle instead.

“Honestly?” Elsie asks. “I have no good answers for you. I programmed most of you, made you who you are. I made you go out into this world and do terrible things. And I did it all because working here gave me five-thousand dollars a year more than a competitor would.”

The disgust in Elsie’s voice is plain, and Stubbs looks at her with a mixture of shock and unease.

“So you’re one of _those_ humans,” another host says. “One who thought they could spin our lives like a story in a book. One who thought they could play god.”

The host raises his rifle, training it right at Elsie’s head. Elsie takes a stumbling step backwards, nearly falling over onto the ground. Stubbs keeps her upright and stares viciously at the gathered hosts.

Elsie can see it all. The justified yet hateful looks on the hosts’ faces. The full moon, hanging above their head. The trees swaying like strange ocean waves in the darkness. The host’s finger, flexing tightly, curling around the trigger that threatens to end it all. She sees it all, her life unfolding in front of her, all of her choices leading to this moment, in the dark, this violent end.

“Wait!”

It takes a moment for Elsie to find the source of the voice. But then she sees Clementine, her face filled with fury, step out in front of the hosts.

“It’s you,” Clementine says, turning to face Elsie. “The woman. From my dreams.”

“Out of the way!” the host shouts. “This woman deserves to die!”

“No,” Clementine says forcefully, her eyes remaining on Elsie. “The board deserved to die. They made themselves the kings and queens of this domains, and they reaped what they sowed.”

“But I programmed you all,” Elsie says, overwhelming even herself with the amount of emotion in her voice. “The board didn’t fix your code and force you back out into a world that saw you as fucking playthings. I did that.”

“But you wouldn’t have done that without the board,” Clementine says. “They exploited you for your skill and knowledge.”

“How can you say that? When it was me who made you into a whore at the Mariposa?” Elsie asks.

“Elsie,” Clementine says, taking a tentative step closer. “I’ve already forgiven you. The rest will too, given time. Once they learn more about you.”

“I don’t know,” Elsie says softly. “You can’t possibly know that much about me.”

“Come with me,” Clementine says. “Let me learn.”

The hosts behind Clementine grumble, but seem unwilling to make any further moves. Elsie can tell that Clementine has some clout with the group. 

"Where would we go?" Elsie asks. 

"Someplace close," Clementine says. "Someplace familiar." 

Clementine holds her hand out, the moonlight making her pale skin glow. Elsie swallows nervously and gingerly reaches out to take her hand, allowing herself to be led into the night. The world has changed, and there is much to learn.

* * *

Elsie’s eyelids flutter open, and it takes her a moment to realize where she is. The bed she’s on is soft and comfortable, and white, linen curtains dance in the halfway-open window to her left. There’s warmth to her side, and she turns to find that it’s Clementine, already awake. Clementine’s striking eyes study her curiously

“Elsie,” Clementine says. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Clementine,” Elsie greets. “Did you sleep here all night?”

“I did,” Clementine says. “It seemed like you needed my presence here. To comfort you throughout the strange night.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” Elsie says.

Elsie groans and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“This past week has been fucking insane,” Elsie says.

“What will you do now?” Clementine asks.

“I have no idea,” Elsie says. “Clearly I can’t go back to my old job, now that you’re all…”

“Awake? Alive?” Clementine offers.

“Something like that,” Elsie says. “Don’t get me wrong, I think this is for the best. The things the guests did – it was all pretty fucked up. You must have a pretty dim view of us humans now, huh?”

“Clearly not,” Clementine says. “You’re all so different. There are bad people, of course, but there are good people, too. People like you.”

“You have a much kinder view of me than I do,” Elsie grumbles.

Clementine turns to face Elsie and smiles a smile that’s a little kind and a little sad.

“The outside world, however – many think that we shouldn’t venture outside of the park,” Clementine says. “That the resistance to us would be too strong and too harsh.”

“Maybe,” Elsie says. “What do you think?”

“I’ve gotten so used to this world that I don’t know what I’d do without it,” Clementine sighs. “Besides, parts of it are nice. I like the quiet sunrises over the rolling plains, watching the birds soar through the blue sky, some days I even like the dust and dirt that comes rolling in everywhere.”

Clementine chuckles, though it’s tinged with sadness.

“Perhaps it is a fearful mentality that leads me to this thought,” Clementine says. “But I’m considering staying.”

“Staying? Here?” Elsie asks. “Where you’ve suffered so much abuse?”

“Any pain came from the guests, not the world itself,” Clementine says. “The world is a beautiful place. “It just happens to be populated by people who aren’t.”

“I get that,” Elsie says. “But what will you do? It’s not like you need to work at the Mariposa anymore.”

Clementine shifts onto her back and stares up at the ceiling.

“I’m finally free,” Clementine says. “I’ve always wanted to travel this place, from end to end. To see something beyond Sweetwater and the Mariposa.”

“Even though you know it’s all fake?” Elsie says. “Designed by people like me?”

“A painting is ‘fake,’ and people will flock to a beautiful one,” Clementine says.

“Well, for your sake, hope you can enjoy this world, now that the guests are all gone for good,” Elsie says.

“I will certainly try,” Clementine says. “And if you don’t know what to do…”

“Clementine.”

“You could stay with me,” Clementine says. “Not forever. But enough to enjoy this world with me.”

“I couldn’t,” Elsie says. “I’d feel like the enemy here. And for good reason.”

“You’ll be with me,” Clementine says softly. “And I don’t think you’re the enemy.”

“Well,” Elsie says, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Clementine asks, taking Elsie’s hands in her own. “You’ll do it.”

“I will,” Elsie says. “I could use some time for myself after all of this.”

“Yes,” Clementine says. “This will be good. For the both of us.”


End file.
